


Clock Watchers

by BryceWrites



Series: Broken Measures [15]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Ease into the main plot line, Gap Filler, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, Plot Devices, Tags Are Hard, Weird Plot Shit, Weirdness, here comes the story, warm up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9410606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryceWrites/pseuds/BryceWrites
Summary: Work and loss are pulling Kelsi down. She misses Juice, but knows she can't return. She goes hunting to soothe her inner demons, but finds a legend and a sense of dread instead of little relaxation. The winds are bringing a change she's not ready for.





	

“Then leave, if you’re gonna be a litl’ bitch about it.” Merle cursed at me.

“You watch your tone, Merle Dixon. I will skin you alive.” I warned him.

Merle turned to Daryl, gesturing wildly to me. “Damn woman’s only been here three months and she’s treatin’ us like she never left. You gonna take this?”

Daryl shrugged. “Kelsi Jo never much listened to me.”

I was just as mad at Daryl as I was at Merle. Merle was always harshin’ on me, always belittling me. I finally stand up to him and Daryl can’t even say anythin’. I turned, slamming the front door on my way out. I stomped all the way down the porch and out to the hunting shed.

The only good skill my ol' man ever taught me was to know how to hunt with whatever you could find. I knew how to shoot a bow, a gun, or even stun an animal with a sling shot. I did better with the smaller sized game; coons, possum, rabbit. Never brought home a deer to butcher, although Merle was a damn marksmen if you told him to get that deer running across the field.

Daryl was a happy mix of both. He could shoot a rabbit or a buck without much trouble, even bringing down bears and cats, or a string of coons. I’d found out early on I had a lot more trouble with a piece of game larger than me. But rabbits and coons I could catch all day.

Pa always said, the best thing to do when you start being a clock watcher, is to get into the woods. He always called the city slickers that; people who watched the clock, waiting for the day to be over. My old man was abusive and a drunk, but this was the only piece of advice he’d ever given me worth its weight in gold.

I dug around in the shed until I found a few scraps of camo to wrap around myself. Daryl never cared much for it, but it helped me feel more confident. I grabbed the compound bow that Daryl had given me for my sixteenth birthday. For all his salt, he’d maintained it well. I wondered if it was his way of hoping I’d come back again.

Without a word to my brothers, I disappeared into the forest behind the shed, blending in seamlessly with the rugged landscape. The trees had gotten bigger and the bushes grew out of control, so it was easy to find a place to disguise myself among the brush. Daryl was the best tracker the family had ever seen; he’d easily be able to find me if he wanted to. But I doubted he’d come running to see if I was okay.

Farmer Johnson had long ago laid clean fence lines, dividing his property from ours. He’d hated us trespassing and after all those years, I could finally understand why. He’d just wanted to grow old and manage his farm. He didn’t want to have to chase some stupid kids off, but he wanted to protect his piece of land.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been walking, stumbling on roots that had pushed up through the top soil and ducking under branches bigger around then my head. I itched to shoot at something, to release the anger and stress that had been building up in my chest for weeks now. It’d been almost two months since I’d last seen Chibs and Happy wander into the diner and I’d already been here for two weeks at that point.

I still missed Juice with a passion I couldn’t rein in, no matter how hard I tried. I’d drive home from seeing the guys and without meaning to, I’d end up on the highway, pointing west. Twice now, I’d had to make myself stop the car and turn around. My body knew where I was supposed to be; in California with Juice.

But I couldn’t. Not with Gemma wanting me out of the picture, however it worked.

So I stalked a rabbit for almost thirty yards before I drew the bow and the arrow found its mark. I’d grabbed a stray baling twine when I’d stormed out of the shed and I was glad, seeing as it came in handy to string up the rabbit. I threw it over my shoulder and tied it off on my pants. Another hundred yards and I found another, quickly striking it down. I did the same thing to this rabbit as I had done to the last one.

A little more quiet stalking through the trees presented me with three squirrels, an possum, and another rabbit.

I turned my head, listening carefully. I’d thought I’d heard someone walking through the trees, so I hunkered down near a fallen tree trunk and slowed my breathing to listen. It took me a full minute or two to realize the sound was running water. I hadn’t grabbed a bottle of water on my stampede out of the house, so I popped up and slowly headed towards the sound.

Pushing back branches and through undergrowth put me in the middle of a small clearing with a brook running through it. I glanced around, making sure I couldn’t see any predators larger than me. No bears or mountain lions upon thorough inspection, so I set my string of small game down to dip my hands, rinsing them off before sucking up some cold water.

A bird called overhead and I looked up, seeing the sunlight dance through the trees, casting an eerie kind of light over the clearing. I heard a snort and I glanced right, seeing a stag stand near the top of the next hill, maybe only two hundred yards away. I stilled, knowing there was no way in hell I could hit him with my bow from that far. I was only accurate up to maybe thirty yards and that was nothing impressive to a family of hunters.

But the buck stared right at me, like he knew exactly what he was looking for.  I relaxed back on my heels, feeling unstable leaning on the balls of my feet, figuring he’d spook and dart off. So I was surprised when he stood still tall, still watching me.

I’d heard stories in town about a buck that always got away. It didn’t matter how you tried, or what you used, this one deer would get away from you every time. The stories the guys had told at the bar were hilarious. Apparently, the imaginary deer could duck or dodge any bullet or arrow fired at it; they’d even tried fishing wire traps, nets, bear traps. Didn’t matter. Besides for a couple scratches and scars, the buck always lived to see another sun rise.

Before, I hadn’t believed the stories. But now, seeing this deer not afraid, not skittish in the least; I could tell the stories were true.

The buck snorted, sending fog through the chilly evening air. Then he pawed at the ground and threw his head. He was impatient. Daryl acted much the same way when he didn’t have his way. The buck returned to watching me for a moment before another session of pawing at the ground and throwing his head.

I made sure of my footing and stood myself up slowly, still watching him. I knew I was acting crazy, but something in my head told me to just do it. So I strapped the sting of animals around my waist, so they wouldn’t put me off balance over my shoulder and I hopped the creek. Another glance at the stag showed he still stood where he was.

Carefully, I picked me way up the rocks to the hill he was on. When I was within thirty yards, he hopped over the hill, out of sight. I continued picking my path to the top of the hill, where I found him on the other side of a wide open, grassy clearing, the little river running along my right side before running off west.

When he saw me, he headed for the trees, disappearing into the shadows. Crazy. I was motherfuckin’ crazy. But the sun had started its descent, and although I had never lost my direction, the deer’s path of travel looked less covered in brush and undergrowth then my previous path. So I followed the deer.

I could see him walking about fifty yards in front of me and I followed him through the forest. He jumped every obstacle in his path with an ease I didn’t possess. As soon as the sun got below the tops of the trees, panic started the spread through me. I didn’t have a flashlight. I could tear my shirt and make a torch, but I was hoping to avoid that.

Suddenly, the buck disappeared and I broke through a line of trees, spitting me out on a dirt road. Upon further inspection, this was the dirt road I’d followed that led to the boys’ driveway. I glanced up and down the road, pausing as I saw headlights coming from the south. I ducked back into the tree line, hidden in the shadows from the headlights. I didn’t know who was drivin’ around the old dirt road, but I’d known there was shady folk in town who just liked to drive around.

The truck came to a stretching halt and the driver bailed out, slamming the Detroit steel hard enough to make the cab rock a little bit.

“Kelsi Jo!” Daryl’s voice called, stepping into the tree line and looking around. When his eyes fell on me, I saw a mix of worry and anger in his features. “The fuck you doin’ out here, Kelsi Jo? Fuckin’ dark out.”

I looked at him for a moment and looked back into the woods. There was no sign of the deer, like it’d vanished. “I was huntin’.”

“Well why the fuck you end up two miles from the goddamn house?” Daryl growled.

I unhooked the belt I’d made of bailing twine and small game and held it up. Daryl’s posture relaxed. “Got us dinner.”

Daryl glanced from the animals to me and the bow I’d been carrying. “Thought ya went city slicker and got lost.”

“Ain’t no Dixon get lost in the woods.” I rolled my eyes.

He seemed to nod, watching me again. “How ya end up out here?”

I considered telling him about the deer, but I probably thought he’d look at me like I was crazy and write me off. “Too much undergrowth on my way out. Knew I’d all but get lost in it. I followed the creek for a while til I saw yer headlights ‘round the bend.” I told him, gesturing as I talked.

Daryl watched me for a moment, glancing over my shoulders and off to our sides. A shiver ran through him, making him shutter. “Yeah, alright. C’mon back to the house. Ya can spend the night and go to work normal tomorrow.” He told me firmly, giving the woods one last glance before heading for the truck.

I glanced over my shoulder, feeling a pull. There, just before the trees melted into shadows, was a buck, standing tall and proud, before he turned and headed into the forest, away from me.

Getting back in the truck left me with an odd sensation. “Somethin’s in the air.” I told Daryl, glancing over at him. “Ya feel it?”

Daryl looked on edge, mildly nervous and I was reminded of the buck, snorting and stomping. But he nodded. “Yeah, I feel it.” He told me, putting the truck in gear and pulling down the road.


End file.
